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Updated: May 11, 2025
The clerk asked him to wait and Rick put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Scotty. "The first sensible suggestion we've had. Let's go call on Fuad Moustafa. If there are lights, we'll pay him a visit. If not, we'll come back. I'm anxious to get this settled." "So am I," Scotty agreed, then added, "Only let's be sure this isn't a trap." The clerk came back on the line. "Hassan is here.
A few even had glass windows with displays. There were textiles, foodstuffs, tinned copper, brass, leather goods, inlaid work, rugs, shoes of strange designs, clothing, and a variety of antiques. Hassan stopped before a cubicle crowded with interesting brassware and spoke in Arabic to a dark man with tiny spectacles. Rick thought he heard the name of Ali Moustafa.
Well, he was getting there, even though he had taken the hard way. On the road near Sakkarah a car was waiting, and in it was Kemel Moustafa. The cameleer made the mounts kneel. Rick and Hassan got off, and the man with the camels hurried away without a word. The two walked up to the car. "Thank you for rescuing us," Rick said politely. Moustafa had not spoken.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't going to hand over any helpless little pussycat to a guy with eyes like that. He'd mistreat it." "Uhuh. Only, now what do we do with the cat?" "Give it to the right Ali Moustafa," Rick said. "There must be a right one somewhere." Scotty waved his arm in a gesture that took in all of Egypt, half of the Sudan, and most of Libya. "Help yourself.
Moustafa was on the message I gave you. If you intend to visit him, you will have no trouble. His house is also his office, and it is very well known. Just tell Hassan to take you to Abd El Aziz Street." The boys thanked him, somewhat relieved that Fuad Moustafa apparently was so well known. Outside, Hassan was waiting. "Not so tired?" he greeted them. "Not too tired for a short trip," Rick said.
For a moment Rick felt a current of tension run through the store, but he dismissed it as imagination. He walked toward the rear counter, trying to identify Ali Moustafa, but none of the clerks fitted the description Bartouki had given. He addressed his question to the clerk behind the rearmost counter. "Is Mr. Moustafa here?" The clerk's dark eyes flickered, and his face became expressionless.
"We got both Youssef and Moustafa, although the trap was only for Kemel. And you were never in any real danger, except for a stray bullet. I've been in the unfinished barracks with my men since noontime. The senior scientists knew it. That's why they were willing to leave you alone. Two of my men mingled with Youssef's gang as soon as they arrived, and weren't detected.
And he will insist that you accept some token of his appreciation. I will send the instructions separately, so you need not bother with the technical reports." "I couldn't accept a gift for such a little thing," Rick protested. He looked at the cat, now in Scotty's hands. It was a handsome little statue. "Ali Moustafa is a hard man to refuse," Bartouki said.
"I only need one of you." His black eyes bored into Rick's. "One of my men watched you and Moustafa search Hassan's car this morning. The cat was not there. Where is it?" Rick started to shout that he didn't know, when a burst of shooting accompanied by wild yells broke out outside. Youssef spoke quickly in Arabic, then turned to the boys. "Sit down in those chairs. Move, and you die.
R. Brant, care of the hotel, and the return address was in Arabic. Rick waited until they were in their room to open it. A quick glance showed that the room had not been searched, or if it had, with greater care than the last time. He ripped open the envelope and took out a sheet of paper, the letterhead printed in Arabic except for the name Fuad Moustafa. "Fuad Moustafa," he said aloud.
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